Chapter Text
Certain people say they don’t like when there is too much. The very ones to dislike the doctor’s office for its feel of too clean. Perhaps this phenomenon of a language of ‘more’s and ‘too’s is due to the populace’s tendency towards a line of reasoning that decrees it simpler to complain about what is tangible rather than the difficulties in obtaining what isn’t.
I raise you, then, that the clinics are not too clean, rather that they are lacking in, say, tenderness.
But there is an exception to the language of quantity.
It is where there is nothing at all.
When your vision is stolen from you, it is not the too dark that you focus on, but the innate need for light.
When your hearing is forcibly cut from perception, it is not the too quiet that you think about, but the intrinsic desire for noise.
People think themselves naturally heroic. That they shan’t flounder in the face of such a burning lack.
They are wrong.
Their subconscious knows before them that they are wrong.
On a perfectly typical morning at his own House of M, the luxuries of warmth and silk sheets are only nearly as satisfying as the thrum of metal. Like the beat of the planet Earth itself or the breath of the wind, a sensation ever-present. It cradles his control, his stability, his awareness. The resonant frequencies are soothing and constant and pulsing and comforting. They act as a backing ambiance that he reaches out to without knowing, leaning into the only song that has remained forever with him. He lets it carry him and, though he would be best served not doing so, he relies on its presence.
This is why Erik realizes before regaining consciousness that something is wrong.
When he comes to, his subconscious is already unnerved. Not that one would be able to tell at a glance. His mind rages for a beat before it extinguishes so as to focus on his surroundings. He tentatively scans his surroundings now, eyes still closed. There is nothing.
It is silent.
To hell with the surroundings, then. Erik’s awareness travels to now consciously acknowledge chains, bindings, just under his silken purple fabric, too loose to mean any real harm. Harm must not be the goal. They aren’t metal either. It won’t be harm that’ll kill him, he decides, but annoyance.
He resigns himself to delving deeper, relying on the calm song of blood’s iron as he thinks back, assessing what he can and ought to without giving his captor the satisfaction of his inevitable discomfort.
Then, a dulcet voice like honey, “Erik?”
Abandoning what most would call reason and moving into what he would prefer to call strategizing, Erik instinctually turns towards the voice and sighs out softly, somewhat gratified, “Mmm?”
The voice returns a gentle hum of affirmation. Acknowledgement.
So Erik mumbles quietly, disconcerted by the quiet, “Alright?”
“Naturally…,” it murmurs.
Erik whispers, managing to keep his voice drowsy, “We’ll be alright.”
There’s a clearing of the throat, a touch of concern laced in the voice, “Rest assured.”
“Rest indeed,” Erik laughs quietly.
Another unnerving moment of silence.
“You may rise. Been awake a bit, haven’t you?” it says finally.
Erik’s mind tinges with flaring signs that say something is wrong, now all but unignorable. He flutters his eyes blearily open, pushing himself up to sitting against the headboard.
And the room is lacking tenderness, all clear-white plastics and ivory-colored polyesters. He suppresses a scoff.
Then his heart rate spikes.
The telepath (correction, he thinks, his telepath) is leaned casually back in his wheelchair against what might be thick walls of reinforced plastic or perhaps glass, dressed in formals: a soft gray high-neck with a deeper colored blazer thrown over. His hands are casually resting over his matching pants. Charles’ gaze is analytical, and it’s leveled at him.
Erik drops the act and nods, cautious, fully alert, posture perfect, “Sure.” He thought it may have been him, but that tone …
“Yes…, you seem anxious?” Charles prompts, voice oddly distant.
“You… do not.” Erik says, too quick to be anything but shaken, “Charles, where are we?”
“Erik… you worry,” Charles says in that same tone of soft concern.
Erik bristles against the claim, “You mistake discomfort for what it is not, my friend.”
Charles allows himself to nod, if just to appease the other. “Of course.”
“I asked you a question,” Erik says.
“Forgive me, dear friend. I had thought you were rather lonely in that palace of yours?” Charles says.
“You could ah… accompany me?” Erik says, and he’s relaxed his posture now.
“Yes… I suppose I could,” Charles agrees.
Erik nods, “You have.”
Charles faintly smiles, “Touché.”
“I thought so too,” Erik agrees.
Charles grants him his wish with a lofty gesture, “You have been to the House of X, as they call it, quite often.”
“A grand place for plenty a grand time,” Erik adds.
“That I can’t deny. You’ve never been quite here, if I have my bearings right?” Charles nods thoughtfully, inquisitive.
“This is your place?” Erik says, and he can’t help but make it sound accusatory.
“Not ah… part of the main house. I made additions,” Charles says, raising an eyebrow.
“To spite me?” Erik responds.
Charles says, “I hardly think that’s any fair.”
“Charles,” Erik says.
“Yes?” Charles returns.
“Why is this here?” Erik says.
“The room?” Charles says mildly.
Erik says, “We could start there.”
Charles says, “For just in case.”
Erik’s mind flares again before he tones it down. He takes a breath. “In case what.”
“In the pursuit of knowledge. Or perhaps safety,” Charles says, reassuring.
“Safety? ” Erik says.
“You are prone to… let’s call them outbursts,” Charles says.
“I am not unsafe,” Erik insists.
“Oh, yes you are,” Charles says.
Erik halts. He repeats, “You don’t think I’m safe.”
“You are… you’re fascinating, Erik,” Charles breathes.
“Charles, are you… you? ” Erik asks.
Charles gives him another small look of amusement. “Well, who else would I be?”
“You’re not acting like yourself,” Erik says.
Softly, Charles says, “I want to learn you… I want to know you.”
“Stille. You… how long?” Erik asks.
“Meaning?” Charles responds.
Erik tangents. He tilts his head slightly, “Can you feel me?” Unspoken, rather thought, ‘My mind?’
“Oh, always,” Charles speaks, splaying his fingers near his temple.
“Including now,” Erik confirms.
Charles nods, moving his hands to casually fold his arms, now relying more on the backrest.
Erik’s eyes widen slightly. “You would allow yourself freedom while denying me the same?”
“Freedom?” Charles asks, brows furrowed.
“You intended this. For me,” Erik says.
“To be sure,” Charles agrees.
“Because you aren’t safe around me,” Erik concedes, just a bit distraught.
“Because you aren’t safe for yourself,” Charles corrects.
“This can’t be your solution.” Erik says.
“That isn’t my problem. You are… you’re perfect. No problem there,” Charles soothes genuinely.
“You don’t care that I’m unsafe for you,” Erik argues.
Charles blinks. “I am able to protect myself.”
Erik protests, “You don’t need to.”
Charles nods, “I know.”
“So what is this?” Erik asks.
Charles says, eyes shining, “What is it you like to say? By any means necessary.”
“I don’t understand.” Erik looks at him, searching. For what, he doesn’t know.
“You’re perfect, Erik. You hold such… control,” Charles says.
“Did I do something to you?” Erik asks.
“You mean now?” Charles counters.
Erik blanches. “My friend.”
“Yes?” Charles returns.
“I thought we promised to forgo past… contentions,” Erik says, hushed.
“I’ve forgiven you,” Charles assures.
“And I you,” Erik returns.
“Thank you, yes.” Charles prompts.
“So…?” Erik says.
“So?” Charles says.
“So, I… what are you doing ?” Erik says.
“Learning,” Charles says, sincere.
“Charles,” Erik pleads. He shifts in the bonds.
“Oh, no,” Charles murmurs. “Not that tone.”
“I’m worried,” Erik confesses uneasily. Before Charles can speak, he presses on. “For you.” He thinks Charles’ posture sharpens at that, though he can’t seem to find any proof other than intuition.
“Are you?” Charles says, tilting his head slightly.
“I am,” Erik reiterates.
“I thought you preferred… discomfort to worry?” Charles says.
“How long?” Erik says.
“Meaning?” Charles returns calmly.
“Damn it, Charles, you know what I mean!” Erik closes his eyes for a moment to try to collect himself.
“Simmer for me, mind?” Charles says. He continues without pause, “Not forty-eight hours.”
“Two days?!” Erik demands.
“Not forty-eight hours, Erik. Closer to twenty-four,” Charles says.
“What did you do?” Erik asks in disbelief.
“Nothing too much,” Charles returns.
“I have responsibilities, Charles. I have a duty to our people. I worked for this. We worked for this,” Erik insists.
“It’s agonizing that you think I’d jeopardize such a duty,” Charles says.
“You have!” Erik exclaims.
“On the contrary,” Charles returns.
“What did- you drugged me, Charles!” Erik accuses.
“No. I… took care of it. I’d certainly not hurt you,” Charles reassures.
“Took care of it,” Erik echoes.
“Sure. You aren’t hurt?” Charles asks, though his tone implies he knows the answer.
Erik pauses. “No.”
Charles nods curtly. “As it should be.”
Erik says, “Is that… so?”
Charles’ eyes darken for just a millisecond. “Do not dare to think I wish you harmed.”
“This isn’t ideal, is it now?” Erik retorts.
“And why is that,” Charles prompts patiently.
“I can’t-” Erik starts. He stops. “Why would you create such a wretched place?”
“Asking again won’t change the answer. It is for our benefit,” Charles reiterates.
“You permit yourself to restrict ?” Erik demands.
“Oh, relax, Erik. You and I have permitted much further,” Charles says.
“Charles,” Erik enunciates, chagrined. Retroactively, he realizes that Charles kept his tone vague, perhaps purposefully. That he may have meant something else.
Charles’ mouth quirks in slight amusement. “Yes?”
Erik glares. “Excuse you.”
“Sorry?” Charles says, cuing an explanation.
“Don’t toy with me,” Erik warns.
“Is that not permitted?” Charles asks, tone mild, though managing to stress the final word.
Erik decidedly answers, “No.”
Charles seems as if he pulls back, not expecting such an answer. He says, genuine, “I’ll note that.”
“Your double meanings are not amusing,” Erik says.
“Your interpretations. Not mine,” Charles corrects.
“Is that right?” Erik asks. And he hates that he’s suddenly able to hold such calm in a scenario so wrong.
“It is. Your line of thought is so… thorough.” Charles tacks on, “If only after the fact.”
“I believe you,” Erik nods. And he does.
“I appreciate that,” Charles nods.
“You said you’d note my words,” Erik says, abrupt. “Was that idiomatic or literal?”
Charles gives him a real smile this time. “Perceptive.”
“Yes,” Erik agrees. He doesn’t quite know what to do with that expression, but suppress a shudder.
“Let’s say I meant both,” Charles proposes. “What does that mean to you?”
Erik hesitates in his own best interests.
“Please. Speak openly?” Charles urges.
“That you’re bordering on experimentation, Charles,” Erik says eventually.
Charles frowns. “I see.”
“And?” Erik says.
“I refute the claim,” Charles says finally.
“Do you see what you are doing?” Erik asks.
“What am I doing?” Charles parrots back at him.
“Suffocating me. I can’t sense,” Erik says, his voice just the slightest bit quieter than usual.
Charles frowns. “You ought to be able to.”
“There’s so little,” Erik says.
“You have been in situations like this prior?” Charles says.
“Yes,” Erik answers instantly, firm.
“And you have gotten yourself out of them?” Charles nods.
“Yes,” Erik says, firmer, his posture straightening. His eyes are ablaze now, determined and projecting stark resilience.
“Good,” Charles says simply.
“Excuse me?” Erik demands.
“Trust me when I say you will get yourself out of this as well,” Charles continues.
“I am having a hard time leaning into my better persona now, Charles,” Erik says sharply.
Charles nods understandingly. “I see that.”
“We can talk. We will talk. This blasted room-” Erik starts.
“Erik,” Charles interrupts softly. “Max. Magnus. ”
Erik halts, startled. He answers in a tone that sounds distinctly unfamiliar. “Xavier.”
Charles goes silent, then, looking at him analytically as he tries to decode. Sifting through the other’s mental surface, he senses defiance and determination and ferocity and righteousness and anger and-
He draws in an audible sudden breath. Just a little deeper; fear. Charles finds himself torn on the proper response, his own mind polarized by so much : the sensation of heady power, of concerned compassion, of intense self-loathing, of burning passion, of meshing morals, of something he does not know.
A beat. Two. Then, “Do not be afraid.”
Erik whispers, “I am worried. I am worried for you.”
Charles’ eyes flash with that expression again.
That indescribable, unignorable expression. God help him. “Say something.”
So Charles does, if to sate Erik’s mind or his own, he does not know. “Do you trust me?”
Instantly, “No.” Yes. He is tempted to say yes. Against his better judgement, he does trust. And Erik is good enough at blocking things out that he knows Charles doesn’t hear that thought.
“No?” Charles asks, voice gaining a sharper edge.
Erik says, slow and careful, “You aren’t acting like yourself. You aren’t… well.”
Charles starts, syllables crisp and clipped, “I, being of sound mind and body, willfully and voluntarily make known my…,” he searches for the word and the corner of his mouth twitches as he lands on, “desire.” Erik’s breath hitches, his mind blaring with certainty that Charles pauses there just a second too long on purpose. Charles’ lip curls as he continues, unwavering, “To ensure your benefit in this… experiment of ours.”
Erik swallows thickly, unable to find or form his words.
Charles doesn’t hesitate for a moment, continuing, “Insofar safeguarding the furthering of our nation’s interests.”
Erik manages to say, hushed, impossibly further riled, “Ah.”
Charles nods, raising his eyebrows for further affirmation. His eyes are surprisingly gentle. His tone does not change. “And?”
Erik says, quieter, “I understand.”